


Gilded Pages

by Mochamiii



Series: Discord tingz [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1830s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Because I am a lazy shit, Break Up, Businessman Tom, But everyone has the same names, Dancer Harry Potter, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mysteries, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Regret, Reincarnation, Scrapbooks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tommy boy here regrets a lot, Trigger Warnings, but I don't :3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-12-13 23:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mochamiii/pseuds/Mochamiii
Summary: It all starts when Tom Riddle finds an old scrapbook in his new house. Ever since that, he had been having strange visions, a weird, aching feeling whenever he stares at the man in the old pictures, a growing sense of foreboding when he's almost finished reading the scrapbook.And, why the hell is Harrison John Potter making him feel this way when the man's been dead for almost two centuries?Or:My tomarry prompt from Discord because I have let myself fall in too deep :)!Possible Triggers in later chapters, warnings will be posted in the beginning of the corresponding chapter(s)!*CURRENTLY ON HIATUS*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Bina!](/users/thebetterbina/)

Tom Marvolo Riddle was carrying boxes into his new house. He had just graduated from the esteemed University: Hogwarts, and had wanted to head straight into independence, no matter what his mum did to make him stay at their family home. The movers had just left, all his furniture in their rightful place, and these were the last boxes he needed to bring inside. His arms flexed as he set down his boxes of cutlery and dishware onto the dining table. His house was sized perfectly for him, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a balcony overlooking the streets of central London, and an attic_-or loft, if you will- _ above him. 

Tom stretched his arms and proceeded to put all his boxes in their respective rooms to be sorted later. Things that he wouldn't really need like old clothes and holiday decorations were going into the attic and he did just that. He had just finished putting all of his useless things in the attic to collect dust when he tripped on a loose piece of floorboard. 

"What the," he muttered, reaching down to tuck it back in when a slip of leather caught his eye. He pried the board off and there laid what seemed like a photo album, if the leather cover was anything to go off of it. It was dusty and old but looked like it hadn't been used for years. Perhaps the previous house owner had forgotten it when they moved. _'Maybe it's a book of dark rituals'_, Tom mused.

He gingerly picked up the book, in fear of accidentally breaking it. It was heavier and bulkier than he thought and just as dusty as he saw. He took the book with him downstairs to the dining table and sat down. He set the book down and reached for a paper towel from the roll on his table to wipe the dust and grime off. The cover was a dark brown in what was probably high-quality leather, an elegant design of a phoenix in gold leaf still intact. It shone in the late afternoon sun and Tom quirked a small smile, running a finger over the leather.

He thumbed open the hardcover, meeting a page with a partially elegant scrawl. It was certainly different, but Tom had no trouble in reading it. In the middle of it said, _'This scrapbook belongs to Harrison "Harry" J. Potter, May of 1835.' _So, this was a scrapbook and not a photo album _or_ a book of dark rituals like what Tom suspected. 

"Good god," Tom muttered, taken aback. 1835? That was well over a hundred years ago, hell, almost nearing two hundred years now. He knew his house was old; made in the Georgian era, but how could the renovators miss this book when they renovated the house?

So, this was a scrapbook and not a photo album _or_ a book of dark rituals like what Tom suspected. He flipped the page and on the back of it he found a picture of who he assumed to be Harry. It was amazingly preserved in black and white, though a tad bit yellow. Harry was quite dashing to say the most, as Tom couldn't say the exact words to describe the man in the picture.

He was young and classically handsome. His hair was fluffy and messy and pitch black, though Tom only assumed because of the lack of color. What he also assumed was that Harry's eyes were a lighter color, based off the fact that his eyes appeared to be gray. 

As Tom stared, he felt a twinge in his chest, snapping him out of his stupor. He looked around confused before looking back at the picture. That was weird to say the least, and Tom had seen a lot of weird things in his life. He decided to look at the next page where an entry was written.

_'Hermione had gifted me this scrapbook earlier today. It served as a reminder that she wanted me to take an entirely new leisurely activity with her company. I thought of it as a bore and she had reprimanded me with a quick thwack to my cranium with a newspaper. Someone had remarked that her behavior was unsightly for a lady but she had not a care. I suppose that I will continue to litter these pages with little odd trinkets and images until I deem fit.'_

Around the entry was a few small buttons, an article about the next political figures from what Tom assumed was the newspaper that this 'Hermione' had hit Harry with, and another picture. This picture depicts Harry smiling brightly, an arm hooked with the arm of a young woman. Tom assumed that this woman was Hermione. She had bushy hair, styled, but still bushy, as if it couldn't be tamed, though Harry can relate to that statement. She was classically beautiful, though she dimmed in comparison to Harry in Tom's opinion.

Tom blinked, where did that thought come from? He shook his head, refocusing on the pages. It was a pale yellow and slightly rough and thick like cardstock in his fingers. A slight twinge in his heart yet again at the picture of Harry had him reeling back. Was he going crazy? Had he gone absolutely bonkers? Because that tiny little pain unsettled him more than anything.

Tom swallowed. Maybe this _was_ a book of dark rituals after all. But no, it couldn't be, magic didn't exist.

Right?

Despite the rational part of his brain screaming at him to _stop looking at the picture,_ he continued to stare. He noticed a little scar on Harry's forehead, almost obscured by the amount of hair flying everywhere. It resembled something of a lightening bolt, though small and unnoticeable to anyone but Tom.

His eyes drifted to the background. A moderately busy street in what looked like London. A sign hung from one of the shops. Though it was slightly blurry, Tom could make out an M, a, and a P. It looked so familiar. Why did it look familiar?

_"Madam __Puddifoot's__"_ Tom muttered unconsciously with a nostalgic smile to his lips.

He gasped as he froze. What did he just say right now? Tom squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face. He felt that he had seen this before. _Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was on High Street. It was horridly decorated but everyone from Hogwarts loved going there, Harry loved going there-_

He opened his eyes. His heart started beating in anticipation. What was happening to him? Why was he feeling deja vu? He knows that he's never seen this place before. Hell, he didn't even know that it existed. He rubbed his eyes, standing up from his chair. It was getting late, maybe he just needed some sleep, he was working hard all day in all honesty.

He gently closed the book and left it on the dining table. He would go through the scrapbook tomorrow with a fresh pair of eyes. Maybe this was a result of sleep deprivation. As he settled into bed in his new house for the first time, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew that place. It felt so familiar that Tom had instantly relaxed when he saw the so familiar yet so foreign sign in the background.

But for now, he sleeps. He dreams of messy black hair and enchanting green eyes that go unremembered when he wakes the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I will indicate the switches in POV as below:
> 
> ∴∵∴❦∵∴∵ is the present
> 
> ◣❃◥ is the past
> 
> I will put the ‘present’ time marks when necessary but the ‘past’ time marks will be used a lot!

Tom sat down with the scrapbook at his coffee table, a fresh cup of tea on the table, as he opened the scrapbook to his previous place. He refused to look at Harry's picture as he reread the passage. The grammar was far more sophisticated than the modern language today and he wondered when and how it all changed.

He flipped the page, encountering more entries and _pictures_, unfortunately. A few notes were scribbled, amongst other pictures and things.

_'I'm grateful that Draco loans me his camera from time to time, otherwise these efforts would be fruitless.'_

_'Ron has to finally confess his undying love for Hermione. Those two get on quicker than a log and fire.'_

_'Sometimes, I often think about what were to occur if I simply poured champagne down Draco's suit, as I cannot stand him sometimes.'_

The last note made Tom chuckle. It just felt so _uncommon_ that Harry would be saying this in one of the most posh and sophisticated eras in the UK. He wonders what it must have been like to be living here back then. When horses still pulled carriages and everything cost about one pound.

He wonders what it must've been like to know Harry in person.

Tom shook his head. The man was most definitely dead and he doesn't know why he thought of it in the first place.

◣❃◥

"Oh Harry you should most definitely start scrapbooking with me! I've already filled about a quarter of mine up!" Hermione exclaimed, taking Harry by the arm.

Harry yelped as Hermione manhandled him to sit down on a chair. The few patrons of _Flourish and Blotts_ glared at them–_more specifically Hermione_– then turned away.

"Hermione, is scrapbooking not a female's enjoyment? It may be a bore for a man just as myself." Harry explained unsurely. Wouldn't it be deemed unmanly for Harry to start a scrapbook?

Hermione made an offensive sound, taking a newspaper of that day from one of the side tables and rolled it up, smacking Harry on the head. Harry exhaled in surprise as a hushed gasp was heard near the till. A slightly older women looked at Hermione like she was crazy and everyone else probably thought the same.

"Harry, it should not matter what you do if you enjoy it. Of course, it has to be legal, but you men should not be criticized on what you partake in." She ranted, looking borderline mad in the eyes of other people. To Harry though, she was just Hermione. Clever, headstrong, Hermione.

She was bold enough to say these things in public, as someone would easily try to shut her and her ludicrous claims down, but Hermione was irrepressible. She could come up with witty retorts in a split second of being insulted and smiled in satisfaction when an opponent would sputter in bewilderment. She was amazing in Harry's eyes and he would have definitely pursued her, if it weren't for the fact that his best mate liked her, and that women weren't exactly Harry's taste at the moment.

Yes, Harry has admitted the untimely truth that he fancied men as well as women. Something he would never admit aloud for the rest of his life for the fear of shame and not to mention the glorious executions of his fellow homosexuals. The petition to stop the executions are being considered as of this moment, but that did not mean that they were safe yet, or it would guarantee safety. He only hoped that with Queen Victoria being crowned, it would bring a new assurance in parliament.

"Calm down Hermione. You look like you are just about to blow a fuse." Harry sighed, patting the bushy haired girl on the shoulder. Hermione faltered, taking a few deep breaths before settling down.

"You're right, absolutely right." She muttered. Straightening herself out and tried in vain to smooth out her hair under her bonnet. Her entire outfit was a deep blue and white combination except for her shawl, gloves, and boots, which were black.

"I apologise Harry, you know how I get on these things." She looked genuinely sorry, which made Harry sigh. Hermione was always ridiculed in school, which made him grow this immensely protectiveness of her.

"It is alright. Maybe I shall try scrapbooking. Perhaps it will be my newest favorite hobby." He winked, which made Hermione giggle.

"Well, I have another scrapbook at home that I shall give you. Now, let's?" She asked, standing up. Harry stood up as well, interlocking arms with Hermione like the gentlemanly thing to do.

The bell above the door chimed just as they turned around, making Hermione lock eyes with the newcomer. She smiled, before turning to Harry.

"The man over there is my acquaintance. Here, I shall introduce you two." She tugged at Harry, making him slightly smile before following her to the front.

The man had their back turned to them as he scoured the closest bookshelf. From what Harry could see, the man was tall, _very tall,_ with broad shoulders leading to a tapered waist under his black vest and matching tailcoat. A top hat laid soundly on top of his head. His black slacks hid nothing to the imagination and his black boots stood imposingly. The man seemed to be drenched in the dark color while Harry wore the light ensemble today, all whites and tans and beige.

"Thomas!" Hermione called out when they neared. 'Thomas' turned around and Harry's breath caught in his throat. The man was positively beautiful, with thick brown curls and light freckles dotting his nose bridge. His eyes were intense, a dark brown so deep that it was almost maroon.

May Queen Victoria help him, because Harry was in trouble.

"Ah, Hermione. What a fine day to see you." Thomas greeted, smiling politely. His gaze drifted to Harry for a second too long before fixing his gaze on the bushy haired intellectual.

"Thomas, this is my good friend, Harry. Harry, this is Thomas." Hermione gestured between the two of them.

"Harrison Potter, but you can call me Harry." He said, extending out his hand.

"Thomas Riddle, but you may call me Tom." He replied, taking Harry's hand in his and gave it a firm shake.

Harry marveled at how big Tom's hands were. They were bigger than his and were so warm and slightly calloused. They lingered there for a few seconds before Tom pulled away, making Harry's cheeks slightly flush. Great, he zoned out.

"Well, as much as I want to stay here and chatter, I need to find a book about finances. It's an urgent matter and I apologise but I must leave now." Tom said, smiling sheepishly. Harry's stomach gave a little flutter and he cursed his luck.

"Oh! Well, we shan't keep you. We were just about to depart." Hermione offered a kind smile. She allowed Harry to escort her out of the bookstore.

"It was nice meeting you, Harry." Tom announced, making Harry stop mid step. He turned back and looked at Tom.

"As well as you, Tom." He smiled, before turning back and walking out of _Flourish and Blotts_. Perhaps, if he looked back once more, he would've seen the utter amusement and curiosity swimming in Tom's eyes.

∴∵∴❦∵∴∵

A knock at Tom's front door made him look up from the scrapbook. He set it down on the table before standing up and heading to the door, maneuvering around chairs and end tables.

He opened the door to be faced with Abraxas Malfoy, someone who Tom called as his best friend. The blonde smiled, patting Tom on the shoulder.

"Took you long enough," Tom rolled his eyes, pulling Abraxas with him inside before shutting the door. Abraxas toed off his shoes before placing them by the door. He observed the interior of Tom's house with a critical eye before nodding.

"This is nice," he announced.

"Because you helped me pick this house out." Tom pointed out.

"And I have great taste." Abraxas waved him off. Tom sighed, shaking his head. Abraxas, Abraxas, Abraxas, what a little shit in Tom's opinion.

"I still have some tea left over. You want?" Tom asked, walking away. Abraxas scrambled over to him to catch up.

"Sure,"

Tom hummed, taking him to the kitchen where he poured some Earl Grey into an extra teacup. He gave it to Abraxas and the blonde nodded appreciatively.

"So, how's this place? Any ghosts haunting you yet?" Abraxas asked after taking a sip of the still warm tea. Tom chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned backwards onto his counter, his arms bracing himself behind him.

"No, but I did find something interesting." Abraxas' head popped up, showing that he was clearly interested.

"I found an old scrapbook in the loft above. It apparently belonged to a young man named Harry back in 1835," Tom smiled.

"That is by far ancient Tom." Abraxas smirked. "What if Harry's ghost is haunting your house? Ooooh~" Abraxas drawled out, placing down his tea cup before wiggling his fingers in Tom's direction.

Tom groaned, "My house isn't haunted."

"It could be, you never know~" Abraxas sang out in a taking manner.

Tom rolled his eyes, shoving Abraxas' shoulder.

"Come on, I'll show you it. I was going through it earlier."

Abraxas smiled, setting down the empty teacup in the sink before following Tom to his living room. He sat next to Tom on the couch as Tom showed him the first few pages of the scrapbook. Abraxas whistled lowly at Harry's picture.

"What a handsome fellow. I would have totally dated him in the 1830's," he sighed wistfully.

"I fucking hate you, you gay mess," Tom groaned, shoving Abraxas' to the side. Abraxas laughed, laying down on the couch.

"Us gays stick together!" Abraxas yelled before laughing again. God, Tom wanted to cry. Trust him, he loves Abraxas, he really does, but sometimes, he can be extremely hard to handle.

"Fucking get up." Tom seethed, swatting at Abraxas with his hands.

The blonde yelped, sitting up. "Okay, okay! Stop! Bloody hell," he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Tom glared at him, placing the scrapbook on his lap, flipping to his previous page.

"Well, as I was saying, this is really interesting," he looked down. "It's weird how this book survived nearly two hundred years and is still in near perfect condition..." He trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Say, there's someone in here named Draco. Don't you have a cousin named Draco?" He looked up at Abraxas, who was chewing the inside of his cheek as he gazed over the passages.

"I do, but he's in France attending Beauxbatons. Weird, his name is so uncommon, so what are the odds?"

"What are the odds indeed," Tom muttered.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crying because I'm free of school projects
> 
> ∴∵∴❦∵∴∵ = present
> 
> ◣❃◥ = past

◣❃◥

Tom was perched on his chair in _Borgin and Burke's_. It wasn't the best looking of stores, especially not, for the era they're in, but it has this odd charm to it that Tom was attracted to. Believe him, he would absolutely hate working here, if good ol' Caractacus' demeanor is anything to go by.

There were various odd knickknacks and books that screamed oddities. One might even call the store magical, in a way. 

He was planning to buy just one thing however. A journal: black leather and gold accents. It seemed to call to him somehow, a little voice in his head saying _'take it'_.

The bell above the door chimed and Tom looked up, smiling at the figure in the door. The figure looked at Tom and smiled, bounding over with a skip in his step.

"Tom! Good to see you," 

Tom chucked, "Harrison, what brings you here?"

The black haired man narrowed his eyes.

"I told you to call me Harry. Anyways, I'm here because I need to speak to old man Caractacus about something."

Tom nodded, holding up the journal he was inspecting. "I'm planning to buy this and perhaps go down to Winstanley's Bookstore & Stationers after. I heard they do gold engravings."

Harry smiled, does he ever stop smiling? "They do. They also do designs. It was where I engraved my book, a beautiful golden Phoenix."

Harry gestured him to the counter. "You should go first, I'm afraid my talk with Caractacus will be a prolonged one."

Ah, Tom thought as he nodded. He quickly purchased the journal, the clerk giving him a forced smile, before going back to Harry. 

"I should be going now. I shall see you later if fate allows it?" Tom jested, raising a perfect brow. He expected Harry to laugh; maybe give a well mannered punch to his elbow, but Harry seemed flustered, which surprised Tom more than it should have. A faint red seemed to glow upon Harry's cheekbones and he just looked so delectable that Tom– what was he thinking? He mentally shook his head at the absurd thought, slightly disgusted at himself for thinking that of the man in front of him.

"Mayhaps we shall, Tom." Harry smiled, the red in his cheeks simmering down to blend in with the rest of his slightly tanned skin. He awkwardly patted Tom's arm before going to the register, speaking with the clerk in such hushed tones that Tom couldn't hear anything, only seeing the movement of both mouths before the clerk left his post, going into the back room.

Tom left then, trudging along the streets of Knockturn, journal in hand. He relayed his to-do list in his head, thinking if he had forgotten anything. That wouldn't be possible, however, as he has an almost perfect memory. The downside to that was that he remembered Harry's face as he jested, the way his cheeks steadily grew redder as seconds passed, the way his eyes, framed with the most delicate of lashes, seemed to glow even brighter. The way his cupid bow's lips, plump and perfect, quirked up into an effortless smile.

His heart gave a little flutter at the memory of Harry smiling up at him. 

_And that made him more scared than he could ever imagine._

∴∵∴❦∵∴∵

Tom laid on his bed, phone in hand as he scrolled through his Instagram. It was his day off from working at his father's company and he was going to enjoy every second of it. His father really works him to the bone during work and it's just as grating as it sounds.

_"There's no easy way of working a company Tom."_ He would say, every. single. time.

Then, there's his mother.

_"Your dad is harsh on you because he loves you, okay Tom?"_ She also would say, every single time.

He knows that, and he loves them back, but good grief if he had to deal with Hepzibah Smith and her gross old lady flirting over the phone one more time he was going to seriously kill someone, or her, for that matter. 

He scrolled and played aimless games on his phone before deciding to go downstairs, maybe eat a donut from the box he bought last night in his stress. It was only 10am, maybe he could go out and do something.

He walked downstairs, almost tripping on the final step because he was occupied with his phone. He went to his fridge and took out the small box of donuts, taking out a Boston Cream before carefully placing it back in the fridge.

He took a bite as he leaned on his kitchen island. His phone vibrated, making him turn it on. On the lockscreen was a message from Abraxas, which looked urgent because the message was in all caps. He unlocked his phone and sighed at the message.

**Abraxass**

TOM

TOM

BOY DO I GOT NEWS FOR YOU

_10:47am_

And what is it?

_10:47am_

**Abraxass**

YOU KNOW HOW RABASTAN GOT INTO THAT DANCE CREW????

HIS FIRST PERFORMANCE IS IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE IN 2 HOURS AND YOU BETTER GO

I WILL DRAG YOUR ASS IF I HAVE TO

_10:48am_

Oh Jesus Christ, Tom muttered. 

Do I really have to?

_10:50am_

**Abraxass**

UM

YES

BE A GOOD FRIEND 😤👊👊

_10:50am_

But it's my day offfff :(

_10:51am_

**Abraxass**

It's only for a bit :(

AND YOU NEED TO GO OUT

YOU NEED VITAMIN D BITCH YOU'RE TOO PALE

_10:51am_

YOU'RE PALER

YOU'RE DRACULA'S INCARNATE

YOU BITCH

_10:52am_

**Abraxass**

I'M COMING TO YOUR HOUSE IN AN HOUR

_10:52am_

FINE

_10:52am_

Tom groaned, stomping upstairs, muttering about how Abraxas _'never leaves him alone'_ and_ 'I'm fucking sick of this'._

He got ready nevertheless, dressing up in a large tan jumper and black skinny jeans. He sprayed himself with some of his cologne before going back downstairs and getting a glass of water. He still had some time before Abraxas got there so he decided to continue reading Harry's scrapbook. He ventured to his living room before taking the scrapbook out gently from his shelf.

So far, the scrapbook didn't really contain much interest. There were a few doodles, newspaper clippings, little rants about work, well, a lot of rants about work. The pictures seemed to really die down, considering that pictures were very new back then and was probably very expensive to acquire. Harry seemed to replace his pictures with drawings.

Someone knocked on Tom's door, making him check his phone. Abraxas was ten minutes early, he pursed his lips. He flipped the scrapbook closed and pocketed his phone. He put his wallet and keys in his pocket and opened the door.

"Let's support our boy!" Abraxas yelled, once Tom locked his door.

Him and Tom walked down the steps of Tom's house and got into Abraxas' car. "Now, we have about an hour before the performance starts, but I promised Rabastan that I would get him some apples before, because you know how he stress eats," Abraxas babbled on as he drove to Trafalgar Square.

Tom nodded along absentmindedly, checking his phone every once in a while. He was the one that bought the apples at a quick trip to the store while Abraxas stayed in the car. He would've complained but Abraxas gave him the money, meaning no arguments. Rabastan was weirdly fond of Granny Smith apples, so Tom bought a lot of them.

When they got to _Trafalgar Square_, it was pleasantly populated. They saw Rabastan fidgeting in the corner and they both collectively sighed. Moving closer, they saw Rodolphus, his girlfriend Bellatrix, and their friend Barty Crouch Jr. with him.

"We have arrived with apples!" Abraxas declared once they got closer. Tom shook the bag in his hands. Rabastan smiled, thanking both of them with quivering lips before shoving an apple into his mouth.

"He looks like he's going to pass out any minute." Tom whispered to Barty. The blonde nodded in agreement, watching the poor man move on to his second apple.

"He's been like this for an hour," Barty whispered back. Rabastan moved onto his third apple, making Bellatrix gingerly pry the bag of apples out of the younger man's hands.

"You don't want to puke during your first performance, trust me." She grimaced, giving the bag to Rodolphus.

Rabastan finished his third apple in record time, wiping his hands on his pants. His dance uniform for this performance was all black, as in everything was black. He had on a black T-shirt, black combat boots, and baggy black pants with a silver chain dangling from one belt hoop to another. He also had a black half balaclava mask with a skull decorating it which was pulled down for now.

"You can do this Basty!" Barty cheered, jumping up and down. Rodolphus snorted while Rabastan started jumping up and down as well.

"I can do this! I can do this!-"

"Rab, we're performing in five minutes!"

"I can't do this!" He yelled, with a worried look on his face. He stopped jumping, looking like he wanted to go home, which was probably true.

"Listen here Rab, you are an amazing dancer and stop denying it. Now, I want you to dance to your hearts content and dance your fucking ass off." Bellatrix growled, manicured nails digging into the younger man's shoulders as she gently jostled him back and forth.

Rabastan gulped, before nodding determinedly. "I can do this."

His teammates started calling him into position and he ran, waving at his friends before turning around. The group cheered before shuffling to find a better spot to watch the performance.

"Woooo! Rabastan!" Barty yelled as the dance group got into position. Rabastan gave him miserable eyes as he lifted his balaclava, his teammates snickering. Bellatrix shushed him as the music started and they moved.

It was honestly really good in Tom's opinion. Rabastan was truly an amazing dancer but what caught his attention was the shortest male dancer. He flipped through the air with ease, cutting through graceful leaps and slides. Abraxas yelled as one of the female dancers and the male somersaulted.

When they both landed, they went opposite directions, continuing their choreography. The male lifted his head, surveying the crowd before landing on Tom.

The man, Tom observed, had the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! 
> 
> By the way, did y'all know we have a Tomarrymort discord server? Hither forth and Join [The Chamber of Secrets](https://discord.gg/e9WSZuQ) today! ;) BUT, THE SERVER IS 16+ we don't tolerate fake ages


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∴∵∴❦∵∴∵ = present
> 
> ◣❃◥ = past

The man's green eyes widened before going back to regular size. He turned back to his group to continue his choreography, which after did Tom scrunch up his nose. That was weird. 

After the performance the gang all crowded around Rabastan, praising him for a job well done. "See? I told you you could do it." Barty winked, slinging an arm around the man. Rabastan rolled his eyes as Bellatrix smacked Barty's arm—the man giving an offended noise— only for her to embrace Rabastan tightly.

"You were amazing out there!" She exclaimed, rocking him back and forth. Rabastan chuckled, hugging her back tightly. 

Tom looked away, surveying the crowd. He looked around, to the flocks of people, but not finding the green eyed dancer anywhere. He seemed to recognize Tom, but it easily could have been someone behind him. He suppressed the disappointment deep down and turned back to the group, almost snorting at how Bellatrix was piggybacking Rabastan, the man shouting in alarm because _how the hell_ is Bella even doing that?

Tom shook the bag of apples that he reacquired and Rabastan made grabby hands at it. Bellatrix trudged over and Rabastan collected the bag, instantly munching on an apple.

"Hmm, Rabastan, can I ask you something?" Tom asked. Rabastan quirked his head but nodded, patting Bella's shoulder to hop off. She complied, bending her knees so Rabastan can get down. Once down, Rabastan asked about his question.

Tom gestured him to somewhere more private, behind the main fountain of the square. 

"Rabastan, who was that dancer with the green eyes?"

Rabastan blinked. Then, a smug smirk graced his lips. 

"Why do you want to know, dear friend?" He snickered. Tom rolled his eyes, already regretting his decision. A few birds flocked to their spot as Tom stood glaring at the black haired man.

Finally, Rabastan took pity and told him, all with a smile on his face. "That would be my teammate, Harry. He's one of the founders of our group and our main choreographer." He paused. "Why, already fancying him Tom?" And the smug grin was back, making Rabastan look like a terrifying Cheshire Cat.

Tom nearly groaned but silenced it at last minute. "No. Just a little curious." He looked away to last place where he saw the man, flipping gracefully to an R&B track. When he looked back, Rabastan looked like he was a reporter that got the biggest scoop of his life.

"Ohoho, curious? The last thing you've most been curious about was your sexuality and now you're curious about Harry? I guess that would make sense because he's totally your type but-" he was cut off by Tom stopping him with his hand.

"Shut your mouth Rabastan. I am not interested in Harry." Tom argued with finality.

Rabastan looked like he didn't believe him at all, which only fueled Tom's annoyance. "Forget I said anything. Let's go." Tom ordered, stomping off to the group like a petulant child. Rabastan smirked, looks like he had some work to do.

* * *

After the group left the square in separate cars, they agreed to meet up at the _Luchino Caffe_, an Italian establishment, for a late lunch. They all sat at a booth and ordered their food and Tom couldn't remember when was the last time he ate out with his friends.

Meanwhile Rabastan was on his phone, texting a particular green eyed friend.

_Hey Harryyyy my friend was wondering about you ;)))_

_2:05pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_What_

_What_

_Rab_ _you know no one's ever been interested with me right?_

_Cut your bullshit mate_

_2:07pm_

_I can assure you I'm not bullshitting :)_

_He said he was c u r i o u s about you :)_

_2:07pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_I-_

_H u h ?_

_M e ?_

_2:08pm_

_Is he cute?_

_2:10pm_

_The hottest ;)_

_2:10pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_Pics pls_

_2:10pm_

"Hey Tom!" Rabastan called out, camera on. Tom looked up at him and Rabastan took the picture. Tom furrowed his brows when Rabastan thanked him and went back to his phone. He had a bad feeling about this.

_[Image.jpg]_

_;)))))_

_2:12pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_Oh-_

_Oh my fucking god_

_2:12pm_

_His name's Tom Riddle, 23, and desperately single and gay :)_

_Now get married_

_2:13pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_Oh fuck off_

_He's really fit, I can agree, but he's so out of my lead :(_

_2:14pm_

Rabastan snorted, rolling his eyes. "Unbelievable," he muttered, furiously typing.

_You're actually his type Harry_

_Unbelievably so 😌_

_2:15pm_

_He loves dumbasses_

_2:15pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_OH FUCK OFF_

_2:15pm_

_I'M KIDDING_

_2:16pm_

_He likes strong-willed, hardworking, humble and modest men and by god you are all of them_

_2:18pm_

_Now I want you to think this over because our food's here._

_And sorry I couldn't make it to the group's luncheon, my friends stole me way too fast :(_

_2:18pm_

**Harry Potter, sorcerer supreme**

_Fine 🙄_

_Eat well bitch you did good today _

_2:19pm_

Rabastan smiled, tucking his phone away as they passed food around the table. Always trust Harry to both insult and care at the same time.

...

Huh, Tom's like that too.

* * *

Harry sat in his seat at _Prezzo_, listening to his friends chatter. The Italian restaurant was one of his favorites, hence why they went there. As of now, Ginny was ranting about the newest episode of one of her Netflix shows and Cedric was nodding along in agreement. Seamus, Dean, and Cho looked at each other with disinterest because this was the fifth time the pair ranted about their show.

Cormac was guzzling down his water and Harry's godson Teddy looked at him worriedly. Adrian Pucey and Terrence Higgs were discussing a new video game with Tracey Davis and Harry was left blissfully uninvolved in anything.

As he took a bite out of his Risotto Milanese, he looked at the text messages from Rabastan. Tom... Tom Riddle. Fate was so _cruel_ to him.

Why?

_"Thomas, this is my good friend, Harry. Harry, this is Thomas." Hermione gestured between the two of them._

_"Harrison Potter, but you can call me Harry." He said, extending out his hand. _

_"Thomas Riddle, but you may call me Tom." He replied, taking Harry's hand in his and gave it a firm shake._

_Why?_

_Why now?_

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled when Teddy asked him if he was alright. He nodded and continued eating, even though inside, he felt like he would throw up. His Tom was back and Harry didn't know what to feel. Should he be mad at something Tom doesn't even remember doing or happy that maybe, just maybe this won't end in tragedy?

Or maybe he should be scared that this will end exactly like the first time.

* * *

When Harry entered his loft, he slowly locked the door and went to his bedroom. He turned on the air conditioner because he was sweating, and he pulled a book from his shelf.

The tattered leather stared at him piercingly. Like the souls of millions stared at him to just help and do something, when in reality two lonely souls needed help the most.

He gingerly traced the gilded letters of _T.M. Riddle_ on the cover before flipping to the first page, feeling much how he felt the first time reading it.

_'June 9, 1835_

_With the nearing start of the summer solstice and the change of season, I believe that circumstances will only continue to climb higher. However, there is a problem that I am currently facing._

_I have not been feeling... adequate in myself this week. Frankly, I am discontented with myself to such an extreme that I am narrowly disgusted._

_God forbid that what I am about to reveal get published in public._

_There is this man I had met from an acquaintance. He, makes me feel ways I had never felt before, even with the women I was so inclined to spend company with. Just the other day I was staring into his eyes like a blundering fool!_

_This is unnatural—against God's will— and I will try to correct myself of this behavior immediately. _

_Though, I hope that Harrison and I will become great friends.'_

The pages were yellow and rough between his fingers, years of exposure making the hard black leather turn grey and stiff. 

The room was dark, and no one can see his tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas guys! I cranked out this chapter in 2 days so I hope this makes up for a month of not updating 😌
> 
> ∴∵∴❦∵∴∵ = present
> 
> ◣❃◥ = past

A few wooden buttons, a phoenix pin, and a feather quill were taped onto the page, all surrounding a few passages on the sallow parchment. Tom's fingers danced around delicately as he traced fine curves of ink and asperities in the paper. Some rust from the pin discolored the paper further, leaving the pin surrounded by a leaking rusty red.

_'The Order of the Phoenix held it's first honorary meeting regarding civil rights. Hermione had lead the main discussion about women's suffrage. I'm incredibly proud of her. They had also talked about the opinion of homosexuality, and their moral compass about the executions.'_

Tom was amazed, he was reading someone's first hand experience on an event that would be historical later on. This was like reading Anne Frank's diary, but it was the original, raw version from the writer herself, not an edited copy. 

He decided to close the scrapbook, shelving it before leaving the room. He looked at the time before rushing upstairs. He would need to dress now if he would arrive to work on time. He didn't particularly enjoy the long hours, but it was safe. No risks about doing something and crashing and burning after. It may be bland and boring, but at least he had this to fall back on.

◣❃◥

"Harrison, I do not know how you do it. But this! This is _revolutionary_!" Montague exclaimed, patting Harry on the back. Harry winced slightly but covered it up with a smile.

"I mean, an electric telegraph! How far machinery comes, don't you agree Harrison?"

Harry nodded. "Of course, I plan to have Wheatstone and Cooke patent it and hopefully have it out on markets in the next two years. I actually planned to sell the idea to them." He shrugged. Montague gaped at him, shocked.

"But, how come? If everything went well you would be a very successful man, Harrison."

Harry seemed to ponder. He would have kept the patent and sell it himself, but there were too many risks. He didn't have much money to make a multitude of them, and if it were to fail, he would be drowning in debt. Wheatstone and Cooke have more than enough money to successfully launch the product. And, if per chance it did work out in Harry's favor, there would still be trouble. What if, word got wind that Harry was bisexual? In this day and age, if people were to find out about your..._buggery_, anything you had business related would totally be driven into the ground.

Risky business indeed.

"It pertains an _"if"_ sir. I simply just can't take the risk." Though it pained him to say, he knew he had made the right choice. His boss nodded grimly. Accepting the answer.

"Well then lad, I'll call in Sir Wheatstone and Sir Cooke. We must begin construction immediately." 

Harry nodded, then Montague let go of his shoulder. He bid his goodbyes to his friends and coworkers and left the room.

He clocked out for the day and shrugged on his coat. It was getting mighty cold out, nearing the winter solstice. He walked the streets of London in early dusk, past stone brick houses and establishments. The moderate crowd of people on the roads dwindled upon the approaching hour, leaving the streets scarce and quiet. People lit lanterns outside to light the streets as the sky grew dark, casting golden light everywhere.

He was debating whether or not to stop by the bakery on his way home when he heard a noise near him. He stopped, looking around until he spotted an alley just a little north of him. There was a strange creaking and squeaking noise, a bit of metal it sounded like. He was suspicious, had every right to, but he knew his curiosity will get the best of him. Besides, he pondered, if he were to be scammed by a couple of charlatans in a crummy back alley, he didn't have much money in his pocket to begin with.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry dared a peek into the alley. Of course, it was dark, Harry cursed himself. He strained his ears to hear anything else from the alley way before someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry barely suppressed a shriek as he whipped around, ready to swing, before stopping.

_"What are you doing here?"_ Tom hissed. "It's dangerous around these parts." He pulled Harry away from the alleyway entrance and further down the street. Harry stumbled a bit before narrowing his eyes at Tom.

"And what are you doing here, Tom?" He questioned, crossing his arms. "_“It's dangerous around these parts,"_ you say. I walk these streets every night so it's no difference from me. But why are you here?" 

Tom stayed silent, merely observing Harry before he responded. "I had some business that required my attention in this area." He said simply, turning his head. "I saw you heading into a sketchy alleyway and I know for a fact that people can get hurt back there. I simply cannot get an acquaintance harmed while I was in the area." He explained coolly.

Harry hummed, deciding not to ask about why Tom knew what happened here but instead, "Acquaintance? I'm hurt Tom, I thought we were friends!" He exclaimed in faux shock and sadness. Tom looked at him incredulously, brows furrowing and lord, he looked impeccable.

"Harry, we've only known each other for a few months. Additionally, we have not talked other then the occasional greeting. So, yes, it is only fair to make us acquaintances." Tom stated bluntly. Harry blinked for a few moments before smiling cheekily.

"Then, come to my house for Christmas."

This time, it was Tom who blinked. "Pardon?"

"Come to my home. I'm hosting a small soirée with my friends on Christmas night. You should attend. We can get to know each other more." He chuckled, pleased with his idea. Tom's breath hitched. Harry was... beautiful like this; laughing. Under golden lantern light, accentuating the delicate curves of his face, Tom held his breath in anticipation. Curse his wretched heart for speeding up at this man's very being.

Harry furrowed his brows at Tom's silence. "Hey Tom, what's the matter? Do not tell me you're working on Christmas as an excuse." He laughed, startling Tom out of his thoughts.

Tom shook his head. "No, no. I have holidays for the entirety of the Christmastide. I can make it." He swallowed the lump in his throat, plastering a hopefully believable smile. Harry beamed up at him, and brightness flickered in Tom's belly.

"Incredible! Here, write down your address so I can send invitations." Harry exclaimed, fishing through his coat pockets for a parchment and pen. He never left with them so it only took moments before he pulled them out with a triumphant look on his face. He gently handed the items to Tom and suppressed a shiver when their hands brushed against each other. _Sparks_, he mused, _it feels like sparks. _

Tom scribbled onto the paper before handing it back to Harry. Neat, elegant scrawl presented itself to him. Unlike his usually rushed print. He pocketed the paper before looking back up to Tom.

"We should probably head home at this hour." He whispered, both men looking up to the dark sky. He risked a blush in the dimly lit street. Something about being alone with Tom in the dark just seemed so _taboo_. Tom nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it seems like we should."

Harry turned to walk away before Tom held his arm again.

"Actually, let me escort you home."

Harry huffed in amusement. "I am not a damsel in distress Tom, I can handle myself."

Tom shook his head. "I know you are more than capable, but let me. It would put me at ease knowing you're safe." Then, he bit the inside of his cheek hard because _why would you say that?_ He only hoped that Harry wasn't suspicious of his actions. 

Harry looked at him for a long moment and Tom shriveled up inside before Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

Tom let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in before relaxing. He walked alongside Harry through dim streets and under clouds that were bound to scatter snow any day now. They passed through closed restaurants and still-open pubs before reaching Harry's house. It was a quaint Georgian architecture house, like the others around it. 

Stopping in front of the door, Harry turned to Tom again. "Thank you for escorting me here, Tom." He offered Tom a kind smile and he smiled back, albeit a small one.

"I shall see you in a few days, Harry." Tom nodded. Harry looked at him one more time before opening his door.

"In a few days, Tom." 

Then, the door closed.

Tom stood there for a moment before turning around and going back to his own home. He grimaced, looking up at the blank sky.

_'Oh Harrison John Potter what are you doing to me?'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I changed their middle names for their past lives. Can't have everything the same now can I? ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Harrison invites Tom to his house on Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I finally found a way to indicate certain POV shifts.
> 
> ∴∵∴❦∵∴∵ = present
> 
> ◣❃◥ = past

∴∵∴❦∵∴∵

Harry just couldn't seem to concentrate. 

A slip here, a stumble there, and some off-timing on certain moves sprinkled in it made the perfect concoction of worry and mother henning amongst his group. Ginny had inquired if he ate this morning at least five times already and Cedric forced him to lie down after Harry's third stumble in their new choreography. Which was bad, because Harry was the one who _made_ the choreography after all. Teddy asked if he slept well last night and Rabastan nodded along while listing down multiple things that helped him get to sleep.

Seriously, mother hens, even if he _was_ technically the leader. 

Seamus looked at him with pity, knowing that if you show any signs of being off or

that you feel under the weather near Cedric, that the man will badger you into taking good care of yourself. An admirable trait, really, but sometimes exhausting. Harry tried to swat Cedric away, earning a hard glare. Harry rolled his eyes, relaxing onto the futon of their dance room. 

This is all Tom's fault.

Okay, maybe not all Tom's fault, but he had been the reason why Harry wasn't at the top of his game today. _Of course,_ Harry glowered. Of course Tom Riddle had to be on his mind, like he wasn't nearly two hundred years ago. Will there someday be a life where Harry can live peacefully without Tom. Fucking. Riddle?

He had never seen Tom since the performance a few weeks ago; though Rabastan gave Harry Tom's number, which he accepted begrudgingly albeit with a tight smile. Rab seemed very intent of setting them up, which only spelled disaster in Harry's eyes. He had mused the idea of seeing Tom, smiling, and all that sappy shit, but he was still upset with him. He doubts Tom remembers anything. Hermione and Ron don't remember anything, _hell–even_ Draco doesn't, but that doesn't soothe a grudge of nearly two centuries.

_'Fuck you Tom Riddle'_ Harry cursed as he stared blankly at the ceiling while Cedric ranted about _"self-care"._

Somewhere, at Tom's desk at work, he sneezed. He blinked, that was weird.

◣❃◥

A knock on the door drove Harry to open it. His guests were chattering away as Tom stepped in, shaking snow from his cap. It was beginning to snow heavily when Tom left his house and he worried that he would turn into a popsicle before he had reached Harry's home. 

"I'm glad you made it Tom," Harry beamed. "Merry Christmas!" Tom paused, snow falling off his coat, before smiling back.

"And Merry Christmas to you as well." He offered a small smile. Harry insisted to take Tom's coat before he ventured further into the house so Tom graciously accept, seeing the stubbornness adorning Harry's face. Harry came back from the coat closet before taking Tom by the arm and leading him into his house.

Tom tried to ignore the little jolt from his heart as Harry wrapped his arms around Tom's left one.

"The celebration has already started, but you're not late by any means," Harry started, dragging Tom further into the house. "I've only invited some of my good and closest friends but you already know Hermione so I will take the liberty of introducing you to the others." He babbled as they reached the tea room.

The room was decorated up in garlands and flowers. A Christmas tree was up in the corner with ornaments filling it. Stockings hung on the lit fireplace and the chandelier was decorated with some sort of beads that shined with the candles. There weren't that many people in the room, which Tom was grateful for. He wasn't the best at social interactions that wouldn't benefit him in any way. But, looking at Harry smile at him with such happiness in his eyes, he decided that any interaction would be worth it.

And isn't that a scary thought?

"Everyone! We have a new guest!" Harry announced, making Tom inwardly cringe as eyes turned to him. 

Everyone spoke scattered welcomes but Hermione was the only one that approached them.

"It is a surprise to see you here Tom." She greeted. "Merry Christmas."

Tom returned the greeting before Hermione turned back to the group. Harry tugged on Tom's arm to move to the group. And thus, introductions began.

He had met Sam Finnigan, Daniel Thomas, Nathaniel Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, Lydia Lovegood, and Draco Malfoy in the hour and Tom was already half dreading the rest of the day. The first five men were way too brash and childish in Tom's opinion, Draco seemingly the only sensible one out of the group of hellions. Lydia always seemed to be in a daze and often talked nonsense, though he could clearly see the intelligence behind those glassy eyes. Tom quickly decided that Lydia was far more better than the other men sans Draco.

Harry seemed happy though, nearly bursting in excitement that Tom was talking with his greatest friends. He was like a lightbulb, Tom noticed. If Harry saw that Tom was having a decent conversation with Sam or Daniel his face would brighten up with that familiar smile. If Tom decided not to socialize and remained a recluse Harry would dim and give him that pointed look that makes Tom's heart give the most satisfying twist.

Lunch had come and gone, the festivities going well into the evening. Tom found it nice to talk to Harry the whole day. The man never ran out of topics to talk about. So far, in their "getting to know each other" talks, they had talked about jobs, their childhoods, and their school years. Apparently, they attended the same boarding school in Scotland, Hogwarts. They had almost met, as when Harry was a first year Tom was already going to graduate. Harry joked about fate and how they really were meant to meet and be friends and Tom smiled along.

Childhoods were a bit of a touchy subject for both of the men, so they didn't dwell on it for long. A few smatterings of information here and there and the two men found solace in each other when they found out they were both orphans.

Harry enjoyed a good game of croquet, Tom loved chemistry and alchemy, Harry once wanted to be a police officer before he got roped into engineering, and so on, so forth. At the end of the day, they felt like they knew each other since childhood. They somehow wished that they did know each other back then, it would have made their lives the least bit happier.

* * *

"Look, look," Harry nudged Tom, looking at the doorway. Tom turned, Hermione and Ron–_"Call me Ron, my mum calls me Ronald when she's mad"–_ were standing in the doorway. Above them however, was a sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently under the door beam. 

Oh Harry you sly bastard.

He rose a brow as Harry snickered, watching Ron turn brighter than his hair and Hermione for the first time in her life start stuttering. "Oh my," she muttered, rubbing her cheeks to hide the red.

Ron cleared his throat, looking down at Hermione. Reaching up, he plucked one white berry from the mistletoe and—gently prying Hermione's hands from her face—planted a kiss on her cheek. 

Harry smiled, toasting Tom with a glass of champagne before taking a sip of it. "I was waiting for them to get together nearly all my life and it is considered bad etiquette to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe, so I did what I needed to do." Another sip.

Tom huffed out an amused laugh. He looked out the window, snow still falling moderately outside. It was dark now, the only lights out were the street lanterns. He sipped on his drink, eyeing Harry in the window's reflection. He just looked so happy, watching everyone enjoy themselves before dinner started. The glint in his eyes unlike the light from the oil lamps but something more genuine, more human.

Tom turned back to the room, smiling as he began to say goodbye. Harry insisted he stay for dinner but Tom refused, saying that he really had to go home. Nevertheless, Harry said goodbye.

"I shall see you again, friend?" Harry quirked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"We shall." Tom nodded, shrugging on his winter coat and hat before leaving.

∴∵∴❦∵∴∵

_January 17, 1836_

_'To the one who will never read this,_

_Shakespeare once asked, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"_

_I find myself wondering this ever since our first real conversations on that Christmas evening. I know now that you are a summer's day. As winter raged on you were the warmth that kept me sane. I found myself longing for my little summer's day in a world where winter seemed endless. _

_You will never forgive me if you knew what exactly I am thinking. But, I will say it now. _

_I absolutely loathe you._

_I loathe how you smile at every single tiny thing._

_I loathe how you remain optimistic despite all odds._

_I loathe how you're somehow everywhere I go._

_I loathe how close we have gotten._

_I loathe how hard I have fallen._

_I loathe that I am a man, condemned to this torture, of this devil inside of me._

_You deserve better._

_You really do.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for hits, kudos, and comments ❤️
> 
> Please don't repost this to any other sites.
> 
> You're appreciated :D


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